Lost in the Labyrinth of Lies
by caughtinblackseyes
Summary: The Underground is shaken by a massive surge of power after Sarah wins and then returns Above. Jareth is blackmailed into forcing Sarah back to his kingdom. A struggle of wills and power ensues as Jareth's brother seeks to use Sarah for his own purposes.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, I know everyones's going to be scratching their heads and wondering why I'm writing a new fic without first updating my old ones. Never fear! I ve been working on the update for Dare To Heir (it's been forever since I've updated that story) and to While She Slept!**

**Thankfully, I have a fabulous beta who is a wiz with grammar and puncuation, and a real darling ta boot! Thanks, sweet Bree!**

"Blast, that damn child!"

The reigning king of the Goblin Kingdom threw himself into the confines of his throne in a petulant manner. He really was quite attractive, mused the equally attractive woman who was trying with great difficulty not to smile at his own childishness.

Jareth, dear competitive Jareth, wasn't used to being on the losing side. Truth be told, the only side he was ever really on was his own. Team player wasn't a concept in her little princeling's vocabulary.

"I would have given her everything if she had chosen wisely."

"By wisely, I am assuming you mean if she had chosen you?" Moira asked, noting her son's extreme consternation. "You would have had her choose between you and her family?"

Then, she stated with quiet wisdom. "Ties of the family are the tightest and she is a child after all. More than likely she didn't even understand what you were offering her."

"Therefore, there was only ever one choice." She paused, and then asked thoughtfully, "Would you have chosen her over us if the positions were reversed knowing full well all of the ramifications? I think it highly unfair of you to expect a child – a mortal child at that – to understand exactly what you were willing to give."

"Now you sound like her. Forever whining unfair this, unfair that… blah, blah, blah."

"You are well rid of her then, are you not?" His mother asked in an amused manner. "Who wants a whining, bad tempered child about?"

"That is not the point!" Jareth argued, swinging his boot-clad leg back and forth in agitation.

Taking a grape from the platter offered to her from one of the goblins, she asked, "What _is_ the point, my son?"

Jareth scowled, "It is the ungratefulness that I cannot abide!" Throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, he moved with great elegance to sit straight up in his throne, before continuing, "If that were not bad enough, to add insult to injury, she went ahead and gave that toad Haggle a kiss! A kiss," he reiterated forcefully, sounding shocked and outraged.

"Hoggle," his mother corrected quietly, biting down softly on another grape. "These are quite tasty."

"Like them, do you?" Jareth asked absently. "Tika grows them on the fartherest reaches of the kingdom."

Raising her finely arched brows, and with delicate aplomb, she popped another one between her lips. "She is to be commended on her skills."

"The last time Jasper was in residence, he attempted to filch her from me." He continued with a satisfied smirk, "and failed miserably."

Moira sighed. Would those two never get along?

"It distresses your father greatly that his two sons cannot seem to manage to put their differences aside."

Jareth snorted. "Not likely in this lifetime, dear mother of mine." Curiously, he asked, "How can you bear to champion him? He is nothing to you, and his shrew of a mother has treated you with nothing but contempt since the day father set you aside in her favor."

Moira quickly turned away, effectively hiding her expression. "Thank-you, Deeval," she said graciously and with real warmth to the goblin who had offered her a tiny bowl and towel with which to wet and clean her fingers. "How are the younglings?"

Grinning widely and showing off a set of jagged teeth that would have induced quaking fear in others, he replied in a respectful manner, "They be doing well, my Lady."

"And Feelize?"

"She be doing well too. I tell her you ask."

"Please do." Moira requested with a smile.

Jareth's lips twitched slightly as he watched his subject take his mother's hand and bow over it in an awkward manner. She bestowed a dazzling smile on him at his courtly gesture. It was quite astonishing the depths of their devotion to Moira.

Astonishing but hardly surprising considering she treated each of every one of the denizens of his city with a kindness and understanding that was rarely accorded to them by many of the Fae.

Following her lead, Jareth changed the subject. "You have charmed them all."

Moira grinned, an expression that Jareth did not see often enough. "Perhaps if you used a bit more of your charm – which I know that you possess in droves – they would like you too.'

He laughed shortly. "Mother, it is not necessary for them to like me, only serve me."

"Still," she pressed, "it might benefit you to do more than kick them around in anger. Why don't you praise them when they please you," she suggested. "It would go a long way to promoting good relations."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "I would not be an effective ruler if I befriended them. They need a firm hand. Without it they would run amok, and believe me Mother, you wouldn't want that to happen."

"But, is there a need to be so cruel?"

Jareth's face set itself into hard, implacable lines. "I am who I am, Mother," he whispered in a tight voice. "Nothing can change the blood which courses through my veins."

"No," she agreed, her eyes as dull as the tone of her voice. "Your father's blood is impeccable."

Sneering, Jareth refuted that comment by saying, "Royal blood he might possess, but he does not have much else to recommend him. It is not _your_ blood that I regret!"

"He does what he must do, Jareth." His mother answered, once more in defense of her louse of a former husband.

"Let us leave this topic," Jareth replied. "For on it we will never agree."

Moira nodded in agreement, because it was the truth. Jareth would never forgive his father for what was done to her, and Roarke would never condescend to admit he had wronged her in any way. Thus, an impasse between father and son.

Reseating himself, he waved his hand gracefully through the air and asked, "To what do I owe this impromptu visit? Although unplanned, it is always a pleasure to see you, of course," He added hurriedly. He did not want her to think that she was an unwelcome element in his home.

"Of course," she mimicked teasingly, and then asked, "Does there need to be a momentous occasion for a mother to visit her only son?"

"No," he smiled that crooked, beguiling smile that had brought so many Fae women to their knees. "Though, generally you prefer to wait for the warmer months to visit, and so I am naturally curious."

Her lashes, the same dark brown as her eyes, fluttered down effectively screening her gaze. "If you must know, I felt a tremor." _A large one_. "And, decided to investigate."

Leaning his chin on his gloved fist, Jareth coolly replied, "And now you know the reason for it."

"Yes." She agreed hesitantly before adding, "It's difficult to believe that a mortal child could have that much of an effect. Usually, it is marginal at best."

"_Usually_ the runners walk away as losers, and there you have your answer."

"The effects of winning are a definite advantage, of this there is no doubt," Moira stated, in acknowledgment of Jareth's reasoning. "But, a jarring of this magnitude would have more than winning the game on her side." _And we both know it_.

"I did sense a certain amount of inherent power from the child," Jareth mused slowly while stroking his chin thoughtfully. "If you were to add that to what she gained by overcoming the Labyrinth – well," he paused. "Is it any wonder that a substantial ripple occurred?"

_Substantial? _Moira could not understand why her son was refusing to look at the obvious. It was clear, even to her, that something momentous had happened after the young girl had managed to beat the Labyrinth. The shock waves had reverberated throughout the Underground. Even she, with her minimal amount of magic, had felt it.

"Others will come, Jareth," she warned him gently. "It is unavoidable."

"Yes." His answer was brief and bleak, and mirrored the expression on his face.

As if on cue, they were interrupted.

"Beggen' your Majesties parden."

Jareth focused his attention on the goblin standing in the doorway. 'Yes," he snapped, "what is it?"

"The High King is awaiten in the receiven room." He informed his king while nervously wringing his massive hands.

"How delightful," Jareth drawled sarcastically. "We will receive him here."

It did not escape Moira the reason as to why Jareth chose to have Roarke escorted to the throne room instead of going to greet him in the receiving room. It was a show of power. A silent reminder that while Roarke ruled at the highest level, he was now in Jareth's world and thus was nothing more than a 'guest' in _his_ lands.

"Show him in, Boab."

Boab backed out of the room, nodding his head up and down the entire way.

Moira moved to stand beside her son and whispered, "Be respectful. He is still your father, and more importantly he is your High King."

**XXXXXX**

The imposing figure of his father strode into the room, his mismatched eyes zeroing in on his son. As a child Jareth had been incredibly intimidated by the height and breadth of his father. The fact that his general demeanor had been less than inviting might have had something to do with his awe as well. Jareth was no longer a child and could now look his father squarely in the face with a matching pair of mismatched eyes.

"Jareth," his father greeted him before turning to the woman at his side.

"Moira," he greeted her as well, taking her hand and raising it to his lips briefly. "You are looking well."

Jareth's mother smiled and gently withdrew her hand before saying, "How kind you are."

"It is no kindness to remark on the beauty of a lovely woman," was his gallant reply.

Jareth snorted. "How does your other wife fare?"

Turning once more to his son, he offhandedly replied, "She does well." Cocking his head to the side, he added with studied civility, "Perhaps if you would grace us with your presence at High Court more often, you would discover the well-being of your family for yourself."

Moira felt Jareth's shoulder stiffen beneath her fingers, and squeezed it tightly in warning. For Jareth to respond negatively to his father's words would be catastrophic. She had lived with Roarke for years, and was well acquainted with the subtle tell-tale signs of genuine temper. It was ever so difficult to discern his true mood unless intimately familiar with them.

Jareth had, most certainly, come by his rather volatile temperament honestly. The apple did not fall far from the tree, so the saying goes. The difference between them was that Roarke disguised his superbly, while Jareth did not care enough to follow suit. Or rather, he did not care to follow in his father's footsteps in _any_ way at all. Moira wished she could do more to bridge the breach, but Jareth must want to do so, and he'd made it more than clear, over the years, that it wasn't something he felt in dire need of fixing.

"Yes, well," Jareth drawled slowly, "I have more important things to do than to pander to the egos of those who frivolously dwell at Court."

Roarke calmly replied, "I do not doubt that the persistent stroking in which you give your own ego must be all too time consuming for much else. So much so, that it appears as if you neglect your own duties if the state of your palace _and_ lack of good manners is anything to go by."

"Have you come here to simply rebuke me on the way in which I rule my kingdom?" was Jareth's next question.

Snapping his fingers Roarke conjured up a chair, more of a throne actually, which over- shadowed the magnificence of Jareth's own. The back was higher, the blood-red cushioned seat wider, while intricate symbols proclaiming Roarke's status graced the arms and sides. In contrast to Jareth's lounging form, which conveyed one of boredom, Roarke sat ram-rod straight, his whole demeanor one of royal dignity.

"You are well aware of why I have come." His father snapped back, his gaze hard and ruthless.

"On the contrary," Jareth lied with great aplomb. "Your reasoning quite eludes me."

"Does it indeed?" Roarke asked, his expression once more bland and unreadable. "The veritable earthquake which rocked the Underground escaped your notice then? I find that most difficult to believe."

Jareth raised his eyebrows, but said nothing to confirm, nor deny his father's words.

Roarke's narrowed eyes flashed with suppressed fury. _One day_, he vowed silently, _you will bow down to me, and honor me as is my due!_

A knot of tumultuous worry was settling anxiously in Moira's stomach. If Jareth continued to push his father, things could get ugly. They were too much alike, and neither would withdraw in an amicable way for fear of losing face. She decided to intervene in the best interest of all.

"Roarke," she ventured to say, "a young girl managed to beat the Labyrinth, and perhaps what you felt was the ire of the Labyrinth at having such an unusual event occur. It has been centuries since such a feat has been accomplished.

The High King zeroed in on the woman who had captured his fancy so long ago, and looked at her― _really_ looked at her. The features of his face softened as his warm gaze met hers. He remembered their days together well. She had been young and untouched by the cares of the real world. Young enough to still play and sing with abandon with nary a thought of whether or not her charming actions were respectable for a female mortal on the brink of womanhood. She had enchanted him from the first.

Moira placed a hand on her abdomen. With just that one look from his strangely beautiful eyes, he still managed to set her heart aflutter. For her, love had not died when she had stepped down as his High Queen. It never would, she now realized in dismay. She'd been fooling her self all a long; of this she was now quite certain. Staying as far away from Roarke and the High Court as possible had been ideal for them all. It saved Roarke and his present queen from the embarrassment of the openly curious stares and the wildly speculating tongues.

For her, it had been a way of escaping the unimaginable pain of having lost the one thing that had mattered to her most: Roarke's affections. She had never given a hoot for her title as High Queen, and when she'd relinquished it, it had been a relief on multiple levels. It was a task, she was to find that not only did not suit her well, but brought with it the snide contempt of those who thought her unworthy to hold such a prestigious position. Only their fear and respect for their High King had protected her from overt nastiness, but it was there; oh, yes.

So, she'd eagerly taken advantage of Roarke's offer of a small estate tucked away in an enchanting, and private area of his kingdom. By doing so, she had thought that during her long absences from court, she had finally and firmly, set her feelings to rest. Now, here he was looking at her in the way that he used to, the way that had made her feel that she was as special to him as he was to her, it was as thrilling as it was frightening.

"You have cut your hair," Roarke commented in a whisper soft voice. Moira's hand immediately flew to the blunt ends of her shoulder length bob. "Why?"

Hot color splashed across her cheeks, and when she answered, it was obvious that his question and both flustered and confused her. "I… It's much easier to manage this way. I never could master all the intricate styles that were the fashion at Court."

"You have servants to assist to such details, do you not?" He knew that she did. When she had gone he had made sure that the best of his servants had accompanied her so as to make her life more comfortable.

Moira sucked her bottom lip between her teeth briefly before answering, "Yes, but I prefer to do things for myself."

Roarke smiled widely. "You always were an independent little thing." He stood and then beckoning with his hand, requested, "Come closer."

Jareth watched his mother walk with unhurried grace to where his father stood. This situation was not to his liking, and he would have voiced that opinion, but he was riveted by his father's unusual display of emotion. Toward Jareth he had always seemed more of an authority figure than a father figure, so this side of him was a novelty to Jareth indeed.

Roarke ran his fingers slowly through the silky strands. "Still so soft." As he followed the length of her tresses his fingers lightly brushed first her cheek and then her neck. Moira swallowed hard. "I prefer it long, but it does put me in mind of when we first met. It was even shorter than this, if I recall correctly."

Moira nodded, it was all she could manage under the circumstances.

"In fact," he mused, "it came to about here." This time he touched her fleetingly under her ear, and then drew his finger outward to encompass the sensitive skin under her jaw-line and chin.

Jumping to his feet, Jareth abruptly cut in, "Mother, you promised the young ones upon your next visit that you would continue the story of which they have all become so enamored."

Moira turned away from Roarke so swiftly that her hair fanned out into a dark arc causing the rich chestnut strands to emit a subtle fragrance of sweet peas and violets. Roarke inhaled it deeply, enjoying that fact that she still smelled of warm inviting meadows and of sparking crystal clear streams.

Moving toward her, Jareth took his mother gently by the arm and guided her to the entrance way. "Boab!" he roared.

The goblin raced to Jareth, skittering to a halt before asking between panting breaths, "Yes, majesty? How can I serve?"

"Gather the young ones, and tell them that my mother has agreed to read to them."

"Oh," Boab gasped in delight. It was truly wonderful the tales that the king's mother could tell. "The babes as well?"

"Yes, yes," Jareth, agreed in a distracted manner. "Them as well, but only the older ones, the younger are not able, at this point, to enjoy the stories, and will more than likely ruin the experience for the rest of you." Looking down at the goblin knowingly, Jareth added, "I take it you will be staying to listen as well?"

Looking sheepish, Boab asked in a humble manner, "Iffen it be okay with his majesty?"

Jareth heard his mother's low gurgle of laughter, and was hard pressed not to laugh himself. He was not normally patient nor did kind with his goblins but the hopeful yearning in Boab's face touch even his heart. "I do not mind." When Boab opened his mouth, Jareth hurriedly added, knowing exactly what his subject had planned on asking, "The others as well, _if_ their duties have been completed!"

"Thank-you, majesty, thank-you!" Boab gushed in gratitude. "Come, Lady Moira… come," he entreated his master's mother while grabbing her hand and pulling her hurriedly away.

Jareth heard Boab peppering his mother with questions on the exploits of Barney Beagle. Jareth's thin lips twisted in amusement. It was clear that his subject was looking to have a slight advantage over the rest the goblins as to what would be occurring in the story next.

"They are like little children to your mother." Roarke's wry comment wiped all the amusement from Jareth's face. "She has always been partial to lost little ones, whether children or otherwise."

Jareth whipped around and rasped out angrily, "And you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"Silence, boy," Roarke ordered sternly. "You persist in allowing the past to adversely affect the present, and it is a state of affairs that must, no… _will_ cease! To continue with this absurdness is undignified for one of my royal heritage."

"I will attempt to lay the past to rest if you promise me that you will not trifle with my mother's feelings."

"I do not know what you mean."

"I saw the way you looked at her just now," Jareth spat at him through gritted teeth. "I will not have you hurt her again! So, in return for my promise of civility, I require your assurance that you will leave my mother be!"

Roarke eyed his son thoughtfully. Jareth's offer was tempting, but not enough, not nearly enough. "I will accept your offer," Roarke began, and then paused, "_if, _in addition to your promised civility, you bring the girl who won over the Labyrinth back to the Underground."

**Reviews are wonderful!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!**

**Chapter 2**

"You wish for me to retrieve, Sarah." Jareth stated calmly.

"Is that her name?" Roarke enquired, though he had no real interest in discovering anything of a personal nature. His interest lie in discovering what she had done to the Labyrinth. For whatever happened in the Labyrinth affected the entire Underground.

"Yes," Jareth retorted, gritting his teeth. "_That_ is her name."

"No matter," his father replied, effectively dismissing any rebellious anger that his son was displaying. "How long since she has returned Above?"

Glancing at his thirteen hour clock, Jareth replied in a terse manner, "Three hours at best."

"Three hours by mortal standards, or by Fae?"

"Either way it does not matter." Then, Jareth added with a malicious grin. "She has refused my offer. Therefore, the point is moot."

"Do you honestly think that such a thing makes a difference?"

"Of course it does!" Jareth exploded. Refusing to be put off by his father's quelling stare, Jareth continued in the same venue. "There are rules to be followed."

"Rules," Roarke questioned with a derisive rise of his eyebrow. "Since when have you held yourself accountable to the rules?"

It was true that Jareth did not follow rules well. He knew this. He found them constricting, and basically useless. And, since his kingdom was on the very borders of his father's entire realm, Jareth never felt particularly inclined to follow them.

"This is different," Jareth smoothly interjected. "There are some rules which even_ I_ realize must be followed. This is one such rule."

Roarke reseated himself in his overwrought throne. Then, while waving his hand through the air in a careless gesture stated, "Concessions have been known to have been made in the past. When I ruled this kingdom I broke a few of the so-called immutable rules as well."

Jareth, unable to keep silent, snapped angrily, "And we all know what a stunning success that turned out to be, now don't we?"

Looking Jareth square in the face, Roarke simply said, "I have no regrets."

His father's casual attitude toward this subject, of all things, infuriated Jareth. "No, of course you do not. All the regrets fall conveniently at the feet of others."

"This is not an auspicious beginning to our agreement," his father commented with wry cynicism.

"Thus far," Jareth shot back, "I have agreed to nothing!"

"True," Roarke acknowledged with a speculative gleam in his mismatched eyes. "Though, in the end you will. Of this I have no doubt."

"You are that certain of me," Jareth asked quietly.

"Of course," was Roarke's immediate answer. "I know your weakness, Jareth. I always have. But, out of respect for your mother I have not exploited that weakness."

"How touching," Jareth sneered, before continuing in a contemptuous manner. "The fact that you are willing to do so now speaks volumes of your respect."

Was that a flicker of remorse on his father's face? Jareth dismissed it as a trick of light. "It cannot be helped. There are forces far greater than personal concerns at work here."

Lowering his eyes, Jareth admitted, "I will not deny that Sarah exhibited a certain amount of skill in how she maneuvered through the Labyrinth. Other than that, I took no notice of anything else of great importance."

"Yet, the book took the unusual course of representing you, and this realm in its factual reality." When Jareth made to disagree, Roarke maintained his belief by adding. "There are a few variations, but on the whole this kingdom is reflected with remarkable clarity. That, in and of itself, is highly suspect. Normally, it taps into the imaginings of the child and adjusts itself accordingly."

"This is not the first occurrence of such a similar nature." Roarke's mocking expression caused Jareth to reluctantly tack on, "Of course, it has been long years…"

"Long years?" Roarke remarked with an incredulous curl of his lip. "Is it your intention to be purposefully obtuse?" Sighing in exasperation, he said, "You cannot be tied to the Labyrinth, this I know, and not recognize this extraordinary happening."

"What of the rights of the dreamer," Jareth questioned, ignoring his father's observations. "The terms have been fulfilled. To bring her back now would be a violation of those terms."

"It is true," Roarke mused, "that, that particular game has run its course."

Jareth knew from his father's calculating expression that he had something up the proverbial sleeve. He did not disappoint.

"It should be the epitome of simplicity for a new game to be constructed." Then with a negligent shrug of his shoulder, his father added, "You are, or so I am told, the King of Games."

"A new game?" Jareth echoed his father's words. Then, through heavily lidded eyes, he remarked blandly, "What you _really_ mean is for me to trick her into returning. Trick her the way in which you had tricked my mother." Jareth was furious. "I will not take Sarah from her home!" Pushing forward, he exclaimed bitterly, "As _you_ once did with my mother. Nor will I fill her head with nonsense and empty promises!"

"Tread carefully, my son," Roarke instructed Jareth firmly, his face cold and shuttered. "You speak of things in which you have little knowledge."

"I know enough," he scoffed, his disdain clear. "As for the rest… there are those who are all too happy to fill my ears with the truth of the matter."

"Gossip," his father replied, unruffled. "Nothing more. Your mother was not as ignorant of the truth as you seem to think her to have been."

"More lies." Jareth made his accusation with a voice filled with scorn. "You weaved for her a non-existent world in which there was no escape; a fantasy adventure that she had no hope of winning. You set her up to fail!"

"Tell me, for I am curious, how is what I have done any different from what you too have done? You answer the call of wishes just as I did. We are no different, you and I."

Jareth's eyes, so like his father's, narrowed. "I do not use trickery, nor guile to further my own purposes! Do you think that I am ignorant of the fact that you initially went to my mother's home with an entirely different agenda?"

Roarke didn't even have the common decency to look embarrassed at being caught out.

But, after a moment of silence he did ask, "How is it that information which has been kept secret these many years manages to make its way to you?"

Looking smug, Jareth replied, "Not everyone feels it necessary to lie and cheat in order to stay in good standing with the High King."

Gracing Jareth with a contemplative stare, his father remarked, "So few are in possession of the facts. I wonder who it might have been who has taken it upon themselves to enlighten you?"

Jareth knew that this was his father's way of trying to ferret out information. Well, he could dig until the trolls came home, but he was doomed to remain ignorant in this case. Jareth meant to keep the identity of his informant under wraps.

"Not your mother," Roarke stated with assurance. "So, it could only be one of those who had first-hand knowledge of the events. One who was there when I returned to Moira's home."

Shaking his head from side-to-side, Jareth promised, "It will do you no good, father. There are those which even you cannot control. Those who hold allegiance only to the Labyrinth, and to the one who reigns there." Sinking into his own throne, Jareth announced with satisfaction, "And just like them, you cannot force your will on me."

Resting his lips against his steepled fingers, Roarke regarded Jareth with steely resolve. "True. But, there are others who can be prevailed upon to take up the task which you refuse."

Leaning his head on his fist, Jareth allowed a mocking smile to cross his thin mouth. "My subjects are my own. Even the High King cannot command them. Only the Lord of the Labyrinth has control of all who reside in this land."

"Oh, how triumphant you sound. Though, it is a small triumph at best." Cocking his head to the side, his father asked, "Have you forgotten that you are not the only one tied to the Labyrinth?"

Jareth shot up in his throne, tension crackling like a living entity around him. Breathing in anxious breaths, he exclaimed, "You do not plan to retrieve her yourself?"

Chuckling in genuine delight, Roarke responded, "The notion does hold a certain appeal." Jareth clutched convulsively at the arms of his seat. "Alas, court duties keep me fully occupied. Yet, if you remain steadfast in your denials, I will be left with no alternative other than…" Roarke's voice trailed off.

"...Other than to have Jasper go in my stead." Jareth finished, his eyes flashing hate. "He would never lower himself to the extent as to go to fetch a mortal from Above."

"He will if_ I_ ask it of him." Now it was his father who sounded triumphant. "Unlike you, he does as his king and father bids."

"Yes," Jareth snapped in disgust, "Jasper, the ever obedient son. Do you never tire of his sycophantic ways?"

"You think your brother too attentive?"

"_Half_ brother," Jareth stressed their familial connection. "He is as you" – _and that wretch of Fae woman you now call wife – _"have made him, the absolute epitome of Fae royalty. A master of obedience, in possession of exquisite snobbery, and well taught in the ways of useless, courtly etiquette."

"You may deride your brother all you wish. Never-the-less, he will bring the girl back if I ask it. Which, I will, unless you relent."

"You know as well as I that he has no regard for humans! Nor has he ever had the inclination to make an effort to understand them, or their ways." Jasper abhorred any interaction with humans unless he could dally with them for his own amusement.

"If that is what must be done," replied Roarke, sounding not the least bit concerned over Sarah's well-being.

Roarke watched as Jareth made his way to one of the large, high arched windows. Roarke knew well the view from that particular vantage point. The Labyrinth. There in all of its beautiful, wild, majestic mystery. How many times had he, himself, stood where his son now stood? How often had he gazed at the massive structure below attempting to fathom its well guarded secrets? Yet, only once had he glimpsed into the eye of the Labyrinth. For a tiny fraction of a moment he had beheld its fascinating depths, and he would never forget that moment. It haunted him still.

Bracing him self with a hand to the side of the window, Jareth spoke. "I will go for, Sarah."

"A wise choice, my son," answered Roarke, sounding quite satisfied.

Jareth spun around, facing his father once more, and added sharply, "Remember your promise."

Nodding his head, Roarke replied in a congenial manner, "But of course. Upon your return with the girl; I will hold to, and honor the words spoken between us here this day."

Wary, but taking his father at his word Jareth said, "Avail yourself to the comforts of my home. When you are refreshed, one of the goblins will see to your departure." Jareth hoped that his father would partake of food and drink, and then immediately return to his own realm. He had, had more than enough of his father's company. "I will return shortly."

"With the girl," Roarke's insistent demand was posed as a question.

"Yes," Jareth snapped back, "with the girl."

Jareth should have been filled with a strong sense of relief at his father's exit as he was taken away by one of his goblins. But, he was not. As long as his father remained in the vicinity of his mother he would know no sense of real peace.

With a snap of his fingers, a crystal appeared in Jareth's hand. _Yes_, he thought, _I will go to Sarah. I will do as you command. But, I will do so on my own terms as well. I will discover for myself what power she holds._

"Prepare yourself dear, Sarah," he whispered beneath his breath while turning the crystal to and fro. Gazing deeply into its rounded contours, he added, "I am coming."

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